


Evidence of Living Alone

by ellerean



Category: Free!
Genre: Asexuality, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Questioning, Sexuality Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-05-29 02:11:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6354604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellerean/pseuds/ellerean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rin has too many questions, and Haru has no questions at all, but between the two of them perhaps they can come to an understanding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's been too long since I've written anything, and I plan to participate in [Camp NaNoWriMo](https://campnanowrimo.org) next month. Consider this a warm-up.

Rin knew the block well. On the corner, the drug store with the cheapest selection of protein bars. Beside it, Anthony’s pizzeria, with pretty okay pizza but terrible garlic knots. The opposite side of the street was more residential, townhouses behind wrought-iron fences, their small lawns decorated with shrubbery and flowers.

Farther down was a small plot of grass—considered a park by city standards—though it housed no playground equipment, and was only large enough for four wooden benches. There was a water fountain, with one at ground level for dogs, and a public restroom that was decently clean, for a public restroom.

Rin only walked as far as the park, claiming a spot on a bench closest to the street. Sometimes, he would read. More often he watched the opposite sidewalk, and the forest-green door that looked unmarked from his distant perch across the street. But, thanks to various Internet searches, he knew it to be the home of the LGBT Center.

Most people seemed confident ascending the three steps to the door, pulling it open like it was their own home. Some lingered on the sidewalk, waiting for someone else to go in first. Some were obviously gay, judging by their swagger or the rolled-up cuffs of their pants or, more obviously, rainbow-themed pins or socks or patches on their messenger bags. But most weren’t obvious. They looked like anyone, like the guy working the register at Anthony’s or the girl walking her dog to the water fountain or the countless number of spectators at swim meets.

Rin glanced at his book. The bookmark was an orange Post-It, scribbled with messy Japanese in case anyone recognized the address.

He bit down a yelp when his jacket pocket buzzed, but it was only a text from his sister. Not someone wandering around, catching him down this block. Not someone wondering where he was, though it was his off-time. Just Gou. Threatening to never talk to him again if he didn’t come home soon. He smiled.

 _Good_ , Rin replied. _I’m never coming back!_

_You’re so mean, big brother!_

He peered at the green door through his fringe. A girl strode up the stairs, her hair tucked into a knitted hat, wearing matching fingerless gloves pulled up to her elbows. She waved to someone inside before the door even closed behind her.

 _Miss you too_ , he texted his sister. Rin tucked the Post-It into his unread book and headed for his apartment.

 

He had a steady influx of letters from home. He knew more about Tokyo than he would’ve wanted, thanks to Makoto’s multi-page correspondence, but it closed the distance between them. Though they all had email, Rin preferred sitting down at his desk with stamps and stationery. Like he was making up for lost time, and all the letters he’d never sent before. He wore his Samezuka jacket as he leaned over the desk, though it was snug around the shoulders now. But it smelled of the natatorium, of Samezuka Academy, and of home.

He was startled back to the present when his laptop jingled. The disproportioned face of Iwatobi-chan alerted him to a call, and he pushed his incomplete letters aside to slide the computer in front of him.

“Haru!”

Haru lazily blinked at him. “I’m tired.”

“Then why’d you call?!”

Not that Rin would complain—Haru, who’d claim they weren’t competing, who always wanted updates on Rin’s training and details on whether he’d improved his times.

Haru ignored the jab. “I can come to Australia next month.”

A smile stretching across Rin’s face. He hadn’t seen Haru—or any of his friends—since the airport, hugging each of them goodbye, making them promise to come visit. _And you!_ he’d said to Haru, prodding his shoulder. _You’ve been there before! You have no excuse!_

“Haru, this is awesome!”

It would only be a few days, he explained, but had managed to make time. If he spent some time at the pool while he was there, it could count as training.

“Like you’re gonna come all the way down here and I won’t show you a pool,” Rin said, and Haru turned away as he blushed. “How’s everything else? How’re your times?”

“I don’t care about that,” they said simultaneously, and Haru rolled his eyes as Rin laughed.

His friends on the team were great, and he attended social events in the apartment complex, and he had a standing invitation at Russell and Lori’s whenever he wanted a hot meal he didn’t have to cook himself. But he stared at his photos from home, and anticipated the updates from Tokyo, and counted down the days until Haru’s visit. He flopped onto his bed after another weary practice, his heartbeat pulsing through his limbs. His teammates had gone out that Friday evening, filling themselves on bar food and beer, but Rin didn’t think he could last the night. He flipped through a book, staring at the orange Post-It he’d nearly forgotten about.

The Center would be open. He studied the address, pretending he couldn’t read his own illegible writing. He’d discovered the place accidentally, searching the Internet for answers to questions he wouldn’t voice aloud. The place had meeting rooms that could be rented out, counselors on call, an art gallery and theatre. It had a cafe. It had more than he thought anyone would need, hidden behind that forest green door.

Rin released the Post-It, expecting it to flutter to the ground, but it stuck fast to his arm instead. He shoved it back into his book, crinkling the messy address in the process, and turned on the television.

* * *

 

Haru had no idea what he was doing.

He’d traveled outside of Japan before, but never on his own. His parents bought the ticket. Or Rin bought the ticket. (How had _that_ felt, buying a ticket for someone without his knowledge?) But now that Haru had the days blocked out, and was staring at the booking online, there were too many options and too many decisions to make about a stupid plane ride.

He called Makoto.

“I can’t buy the ticket for you!” Makoto said, once Haru admitted the call wasn’t just to say hello. “Haru, you’re going to be traveling a lot!”

“The website is annoying.” Haru squinted at the screen. “Which one do I pick?”

The choice was easier once he narrowed it down to times and dates he could manage, even if he couldn’t find a flight that pulled in when Rin was free. He only allowed someone else to pick him up if it were someone he knew, even if that someone ended up being Russell, who would try to have a conversation with him. In English.

He sat back in his desk and stared at the confirmation email. One round-trip ticket from Tokyo to Sydney, non-stop. Nine and a half hours on a plane by himself. His assigned seat was blocked out in red, in the rear of the plane, seemingly separate from everyone else despite the occupied seats around it. He shrugged and shut down his computer.

There was a mixer with the women’s swim team that evening. Haru was decent enough at avoiding social events, but hadn’t been to the last few, thus found himself pulling on a clean T-shirt and pocketing his railway pass.

It wasn’t until he was packed on the train that he realized he hadn’t told Rin about his flight. _Why?_ he thought, staring at an advertisement overhead. It bore the smiling face of a girl and a speech bubble praising a local university. He _wanted_ to visit Rin. He wanted to see Australia again with a clear head, and to play with Winnie, and to swim in the pool Rin swam in every day. He stared at the advertisement long enough that he could see each individual pixel of the photograph until it was broken down to nothing but dots and spaces.

The train squealed to a stop, and he frowned as he disembarked.

The mixer was at a teammate’s apartment, a place not big enough to fit the number of people invited. The guys he’d actually want to talk to were cornered by members of the women’s team, and Haru had half a mind to leave them alone. A variety of beer was on full display, but Haru maneuvered into the kitchen for a glass of water. There was a small group huddled by the window, who nodded at him in acknowledgement, but Haru said nothing as he opened a kitchen cabinet.

“Nanase, right?”

He turned, empty glass in hand, and adjusted his gaze up to meet the girl’s eyes. She was nearly Makoto’s height, which was fine enough for Makoto, but slimmer and long-limbed. Her hair was cut short, intentionally uneven on one side, a style that must look weird with a swim cap.

She introduced herself as Kotake. In the first few minutes of what could be considered a conversation—though Haru had said little but confirmation of his identity—he’d already learned how many of these mixers she’d been to (six), how many she’d been _dying_ to meet him at (six), and had narrowly escaped having his hair stroked (twice).

“You make it look so _easy_ ,” Kotake said. “I’ve never seen someone swim like you.”

“I don’t do anyth—”

“And that Matsuoka!” She slammed her beer bottle onto the countertop. “Did you know your times are almost _exactly_ the same?”

Haru’s head jerked up. “You know Rin?”

“Everyone knows Matsuoka!” She waved a flippant hand before taking a swig of beer.

This was true enough; most Japanese swimmers knew about the one who’d gone to Australia to train. His name had appeared in recent swimming news more than once: a serious contender for the national team; Olympic potential. Like some others Haru knew there in Japan. Like Haru himself.

“I’m going to Australia,” he said during a brief lag in conversation. “To visit.”

“That’s _so cool_!” Kotake grinned. “I didn’t know you guys were close!”

Haru thought of the photographs in his apartment, of his high school team and the black jacket that often infiltrated it. And the frequent one-sided text messages, Rin’s times and taunts and praise from across the ocean. He smiled, looking down into his empty glass.

It was a minor relief when Yazaki snuck into the kitchen. They knew each other well enough, having trained together, but Haru could’ve been hiding in a cabinet for all Yazaki noticed him—not with leggy Kotake there, who was subject to Yazaki’s attempt at a side hug. He would not be deterred by their obvious high difference, standing on his toes to throw an arm around the girl’s shoulders.

Haru’s throat felt like sand. He took the opportunity to fill his glass at the sink, trying to ignore Yazaki’s high-pitched protest at whatever it was Kotake was doing. Haru drank down his water in one gulp, and then texted Rin.

 _I have a flight_. He stared at the words, willing Rin's immediate reply, waiting for the tiny speech bubble that meant he was typing. Anything.

“Isn’t she great?” Yazaki was saying, as if Haru hadn’t turned away from the conversation. He glanced up from his phone. “You guys finally got to meet!”

“Hey, Nanase.” Kotake gently nudged Yazaki’s arms off her shoulders. “A bunch of us are going out after this. I could use a better date than this guy.”

Haru’s phone buzzed in his hands. He checked it immediately, because there was only one person who would text him at that hour, when he would ordinarily be in bed already. _Great!_ Rin replied. _Get ready!_

 _“So?”_ Yazaki prodded. “You coming or not?”

With downcast eyes, his reaction time wasn’t fast enough to duck away from the hair-stroking, one lock of hair twirled around Kotake’s finger. He glared through his fringe as the hair fell neatly back into place.

“Isn’t he amazing?” Kotake said, tapping her blunt fingernails on the empty beer bottle. “Nanase is amazing.”

* * *

 

Rin felt like he was being watched.

It was illogical—no one else was in the waiting room at the health center, and the receptionist had merely glanced up when he’d come in. He wasn’t ill; he would’ve gone straight to check-in. Instead he’d turned into the empty waiting room, where every university student knew there was an endless supply of free condoms.

He avoided staring at the condom-filled fishbowl, though its multi-colored wrappers assaulted his peripheral vision. Instead he tried to focus on the display of pamphlets beside it, the information on mental, physical, and sexual health. Rin hadn’t touched any of them. It would be just his luck to pick up one offending pamphlet the moment someone walked into the waiting room, where he’d then have to pretend he was there for a friend too embarrassed to get the information himself.

 _Why is_ that _one so obvious?_ Rin thought, with its rainbow background and two smiling, ripped guys on the cover. He grimaced. His gaze wandered to the other reading materials, on STD testing and safe sex and warning signs of depression. He glanced over an advertisement for the on-campus LGBT group—like hell he would—but noticed the unobtrusive logo of the community Center on a neighboring flyer. He pocketed the advertisement without reading it, glanced at the health center’s front door, then shoved the smiling, ripped guys into his pocket, too.

* * *

 

 _“Haru.”_ He recognized Makoto’s exasperation even over the phone, the way he was probably tilting his head as he sighed. “She wasn’t being _weird_. She was flirting with you.”

The apartment’s window was open, sending a cool breeze through the room, which didn’t explain why Haru’s cheeks were suddenly warm. “How do you know?”

There was that sigh again—maybe he was running a hand through his hair, or his brow was creased as he tried to think of a way to explain—

“Do you flirt?” Haru asked.

“Do I…!” He stuttered. “I mean… M-Maybe not on purpose, but I can tell when…!”

“People flirt with you?”

Haru was seated on the floor, leaned against the wall, a discarded copy of _Swimming World_ at his feet. Rin had bought him the magazine subscription, teasing that they should at least read it because they’d both appear on the cover one day. He didn’t know anyone in this month’s edition, at least not personally.

“I know you don’t care about those things,” Makoto was saying. “But you should _try_ to be nice when someone is being nice to you.”

“You don’t have to tell me that.” Haru stared at the guy on the cover of the magazine, someone he’d never heard of from the Netherlands. “And she was being weird.”

 _Don’t care about what things?_ he thought, as Makoto hastily changed the topic, suddenly interesting in sharing whatever he’d learned in class that day. Haru silently turned the pages of the magazines, because maybe he'd missed something, searching for the  _Matsuoka Rin_ that must have appeared somewhere within in pages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (chapter is [here](http://ellereanwrites.tumblr.com/post/141681739613) on tumblr.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what I was thinking—finishing this in two chapters. Ha.

Each of his friends’ apartments had a distinct scent. They were their owners magnified, their imprint embedded into every surface. It infiltrated carpets and couches; it sank deep into mattresses and hung in the air like perfume.

Haru stood in the middle of Rin’s living room, breathing in the musky scent of Rin, though he was still alone.

Rin had passed his spare key to Russell, who’d passed it to Haru, permitting him entrance while Rin was still in class. Haru hadn’t ventured farther than the living room, mere steps from the front door, his jacket and suitcase at his feet. The keychain hung from his finger, a tiny dolphin holding two keys, one for the complex’s front door and one to gain access to room 317. The dolphin looked like the one he’d received from Iwatobi Swim Club as a child, but it wasn’t. But it was close.

Haru collapsed onto the couch. It wasn’t long enough for him to stretch out, but he propped his feet up on the arm. On the coffee table was evidence of living alone, scattered personal things a roommate would find annoying: A hairbrush. An empty water glass. A book that Haru couldn’t read the title of, because it was in English. A Post-It scribbled with Japanese served as its bookmark, but Haru didn’t feel like moving to spy on it. He leaned his head back against the armrest. He stared at a stray red hair on the back cushion, stuck fast to the brown suede-like fabric. He pressed his cheek to the cushion, eyes half-closed, when the doorknob rattled.

“I know you’re in theeere,” sang the voice from the other side.

Rin had a key—or so he believed, having supposedly been given the spare—but Haru pulled himself off the couch anyway. His vertebrae popped as he rose, still unaccustomed to movement after the long flight, arms stretched overhead as Rin knocked unceasingly.

“Welcome home,” Haru said, opening the door, but the sentiment was muffled against Rin’s shoulder as he was pulled into a hug.

 

 

Haru was in his apartment.

There was Haru’s suitcase, with his jacket neatly draped over it. There were Rin’s keys, hanging on the hook by the front door, the ones he’d passed to Russell that morning. There was the scent of Haru, clean and chlorinated and infiltrating the air of his single-occupancy apartment.

And there was Haru: arms around his waist, face to his shoulder, either laughing or crying or doing _something_ that Haru wasn’t inclined to ever do. He hastily let go, but Haru’s face betrayed no hint of emotion. Rin nudged him into the apartment so he could close the door.

“You’re here!” Rin said, somewhat obviously, tugging down the hem of his jacket.

Haru looked around the place, as if he hadn’t noticed. Rin tried following his line of vision, from the kitchenette to the window that overlooked the street to the coffee table—

He bit back a yelp. It wasn’t the book itself that he cared about—Haru wouldn’t even understand the title, let alone the story—but Rin tried to determine whether the book had been moved at all, its location minutely adjusted by curious hands, the Post-It bookmark removed and carefully replaced by the only one who’d be able to read its words.

He didn’t think so, nor did Haru’s eyes linger on it. Instead, he was staring straight at Rin.

“Now that I’ve got you here, what do you want to do?” Rin asked, as if there could be any question.

The water was different in Australia. Haru remembered that from last time, but now his focus was magnified. The outdoor pool, the blazing sun on his naked back. Not quite summer yet, but warm enough to immerse himself without the lingering dread of sniffles.

When he came up for air Rin was sitting on a starting block, swinging his legs. He looked unnatural in jammers, the gray stripes winding down the sides of his thighs, his calves pale and freshly-shaven.

“Not bad, huh?” Rin smirked, then slid into the lane beside him.

They had never trained together, Haru realized; not really. Not cooperatively. As they simultaneously burst into a front crawl, the water mirrored their energy. Rin’s stroke was hard and impatient, punching his way through the water and disrupting Haru, forcing his body to push harder to reach the wall first. They’d raced. They’d competed. Rin had declared the rivalry that Haru merely went along with—had ignored at times—even as he fought to pull ahead. When they slapped the wall, Rin was already laughing as Haru was catching his breath, and people he didn’t know where debating above them in English. He didn’t have to understand the words to know they argued over who finished first.

He side-eyed Rin. Wisps of hair stuck out of his black swim cap, which were dripping water down his face like tears. He smiled, shouted something in English, then turned to Haru.

“They said I won,” Rin said.

Haru narrowed his eyes. “But you didn’t.” He turned back to his lane and adjusted his goggles, expecting— _knowing_ —Rin wouldn’t refuse a rematch.

But he couldn’t deny Rin’s victory the second time. “I have jet lag,” Haru complained, as if Rin would’ve believed the excuse.

 

 

Maybe he _was_ jet-lagged, judging by the way Haru trudged back to the apartment, stomach full of food a heck of lot better than an airline meal. He yawned as Rin locked the door behind them.

“You’ve got the couch,” Rin said. “Unless you want the bed, and _I’ll_ take the couch. It’s not like I haven’t slept—”

Haru flopped onto the couch fully-clothed. “Couch is fine.”

He’d removed his sneakers, not that Rin had required it, revealing navy polka-dot socks that he now propped up on the couch’s arm. It was earlier than Rin would normally sleep but Haru had already closed his eyes, tucking himself against the cushions. Haru wasn’t as lean as he remembered—in the short few months his thighs were slightly thicker, shoulders broader. When he propped his hands behind his head, there was the hint of visible biceps.

Rin hastily gathered up his mess on the coffee table—empty glass, hairbrush, embarrassing book—and strode into the kitchenette without checking to see if Haru watched or not.

“What’s that book?” Haru asked, and Rin’s shoulders tensed.

“Nothing you’d like,” he replied. “It’s for school.”

“How do you know I wouldn’t like it?”

Rin rinsed out the glass, then wiped it through with a hand towel. “Because you hate English.”

He peered up. Haru had opened his eyes, and the pout was visible from across the room. “I don’t _hate_ English.”

“Yes you do!”

Haru curled onto his side, facing the rear of the couch. His jeans dipped down in the back, revealing the black band of his jammers.

“Go get changed!” Rin barked. He opened his mouth again, then shut it, decidedly _not_ commenting on the swimsuit as he averted his gaze from Haru’s backside. He shoved the offended literature in a kitchen drawer, where he’d least be likely to find it against among the serving spoons.

 

 

The couch was comfortable enough, for a couch, but it couldn’t be blamed for Haru’s restless sleep.

He’d all but given up, closing his eyes out of habit, not because he expected anything to happen. He burrowed into the blanket, which smelled like the stale wood of an unopened drawer, the blanket reserved for guests and previously unused. The apartment complex was quiet at two-thirty in the morning; there had been people rushing down the hallway earlier but they were all gone, locked away in their own rooms and probably sleeping, not that Haru envied them.

He blamed the lack of a bath—a shower alone wasn’t adequate, though Rin had told him it was enough for Australia. He felt dry, and he scratched the back of his neck before realizing he shouldn’t be moving at all if he wanted to sleep.

Haru opened his eyes, rolled onto his back, and stared at the ceiling.

He was used to the shadows of his own apartment: tree branches across the ceiling; the cracked-open door of the bathroom. There were too many dark corners here, too much furniture compared to his own place, and so many dark shapes on the walls that were photographs and posters in the light.

He kicked off the blanket and sat up, both feet planted on the floor as he pat down his wayward hair. His vision slowly adjusted to the dark, more sensical now that he was sitting up. Rin’s desk was near the window, the laptop closed but on, its lid softly glowing in sleep mode. He wrapped the musty blanket around his shoulders and shuffled toward it.

Haru squinted when he opened the lid, the screen blinding with its sudden burst of energy. It would be pointless to log into the chat; the time difference was only an hour, and Japan would be in the throes of sleep as well. He scrolled through Rin’s saved websites, most of them in English, before visiting _Swimming World_ ’s Japanese site. No new updates since he and Rin had checked it before bed, but he read through the articles, anyway, and input both their names in the search bar. He was still unused to seeing his name listed in these rankings, seeing his headshot appear on that one article about high school graduates. Rin’s headshot was nicer—he smiled, and he’d worn his Samezuka jacket, unzipped a little at the top. Haru stared at the exposed collarbone, the whiteness of his teeth.

Haru smiled. Rin would be good at this.

The room fell into inky darkness when he closed the laptop lid, and Haru sat motionless as his eyes adjusted to the again. He opened a drawer out of curiosity, admiring the neat rows of supplies inside it. The pens had a little cubby, and Post-Its of varying colors were stacked in the corner. The stack had toppled slightly when he’d pulled open the drawer, and Haru neatened them up again.

“Hmm?”

The papers inside were haphazard in comparison, stashed away nonsensically and without order. He glanced at Rin’s bedroom—the door wasn’t closed all the way, but it had been that way when he’d gone to sleep—and silently pulled out one of the papers. He could make out some of the words: Art. See. Center. _A gallery?_ he thought, turning the paper over, but the underside was blank. He gently put the paper back and picked up another.

He didn’t have to master English to understand it; he’d seen something similar at his own school. The two boys on the cover of the pamphlet, smiling at each other, though Australian rather than Japanese. His cheeks warmed, and he let the blanket slide off his shoulders. He opened the cover. The headline was easy to understand: _It’s Okay!_ in red script, and then those same boys had their backs to him, holding hands. Haru heard his own breathing in the quiet, felt the air travel through him the same way his body traveled through water. He folded up the pamphlet, tucked it back into the drawer the same way he’d found it, and gathered up his blanket. He watched at his bare feet as he returned to the couch. He stood before it, staring at his imprint in the cushions, and then looked up at Rin’s door.

No change. Rin was asleep. He should be asleep, too. He yawned, his body and eyelids heavy, but he folded the blanket on the couch and crossed over to Rin’s room.

“Rin?”

 

 

“Rin?”

He’d heard Haru the first time. Spoken softly but firmly, not wanting to wake him but also hoping he’d wake up. Rin was sprawled in the middle of the bed, blanket up around his armpits, trying to remain motionless. It wasn’t until he heard Haru’s retreating footsteps that he spoke.

“Haru?”

Soft enough that it was possible Haru couldn’t hear, but also hoping he had.

Rin slowly opened his eyes, feigning having just woken up, to Haru standing half-in, half-outside his bedroom.

“What is it?” The mattress creaked as he sat up. “Can’t sleep?”

“I can sleep _fine_ ,” he snapped, expecting a counter-argument, but Rin didn’t take the bait. Haru studied his own hand around the doorknob, as if intrigued by the concept of a doorknob. His own apartment had those sliding doors, didn’t they? How often did Haru used a doorknob?

He took one step into the room. Then another. He alternated between looking at Rin and at the floor, and there weren’t enough steps between the door and the bed for Rin to register what was happening. Rin pulled up the strap of his muscle shirt and ran a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. Haru stood at the bedside, staring at who knew what—not his face, but his shoulder? His pillow? His hair that was probably sticking up in the back?

Rin averted his eyes, and then inched toward the wall.

He didn’t lie down yet, not when Haru crawled into his bed, or when he curled on his side facing away from him. He stared at the back of Haru’s head, the only part visible over the blanket he’d pulled up to his chin. When he still didn’t say anything, Rin sighed and flopped back to bed, immediately feeling bad for jostling it so much.

“Goodnight, Rin.”

He’d gotten used to sleeping in his big bed alone. And while there was enough space between them to fit another body, Rin still felt the body heat on his back. He felt the rhythm of Haru’s breathing through the shared mattress. He closed his eyes, clutching the edge of the blanket.

“Goodnight, Haru.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (chapter is [here](http://ellereanwrites.tumblr.com/post/142478017963) on tumblr.)


	3. Chapter 3

The Tokyo streets were always densely populated, but at least people moved aside for runners. Mornings became easier when Haru realized the streets were less crowded, when the sun was beginning its ascent and flashed in glimpses between buildings. The morning air was cool but Haru’s bare chest already glistened with sweat, and he’d forgotten how long he’d been running at all.

Once he’d ran all the way down to the water, and had regretted it only because he’d have to get back to his apartment and didn’t have his metro ticket. Now he kept within a ten-block radius, running the same loop several times over so he could easily return home when he was tired.

When he returned to his apartment, Makoto had already let himself in. Haru paused at the door, inhaling the welcoming scent of mackerel. It was the first thing Haru had taught Makoto how to cook, and the one thing Makoto felt confident making for them both.

It had been two days, and Makoto hadn’t asked much about the trip. Rin was good; Haru liked his apartment. The pool was nice. Haru had been trying to piece together the details, connecting the stranger parts of Rin’s behavior with the parts Haru had determined himself: the parts Rin would never admit to unprompted.

Rin hadn’t replied to his most recent email yet. It wasn’t uncommon for Haru to wait several days between emails before replying—he often forgot to check his email at all—but silence from Rin was another matter. There’s been nothing since Haru had returned to Tokyo, beyond the simple text that he was glad he’d gotten home safe.

 _He’s busy_ , Haru told himself, as he sat down to breakfast. But as Makoto began friendly morning conversation, Haru kept on taking glances at the laptop sitting on his desk. He chewed his rice slowly, thinking only how it wasn’t as salty as usual, almost palatable paired with the mackerel. If Makoto noticed his unusual quiet—unusual even for Haru—he didn’t comment, only filling the conversational gaps as he normally did.

A part of Haru _wanted_ someone to notice, and the one who’d notice anything at all had failed him. When he got to class that day, it wasn’t like his classmates would notice anything amiss. Even professors already knew well enough that he’d speak only when he had something worthwhile to say. Sitting by the window during class was a distraction, even though beyond its glass there were steel structures and concrete rather than fields of sakura trees. And when morning classes came and went, and there were still no messages on his phone, he stood outside the natatorium before practice and typed out a text.

_I want to tell you something._

His thumb had hovered over Rin’s name, but the message went to Makoto instead.

 

 

There was someone sitting on his preferred bench. Not that Rin had _claimed_ it, but he’d already been walking toward the bench closest to the street and it was inconvenient to alter his path at the last second. The girl had glanced up with a smile, which Rin politely returned as he bypassed her by to sit on the next bench over. On the complete opposite side of the bench, as far away as possible, dropping his shoulder bag on the seat beside him. He propped an ankle up on his knee and fished a notebook out of his bag.

Coach had tweaked his training regimen, and the changes were seemingly insignificant until Rin had gotten into the pool. His hair was still damp with water and sweat, and his muscles burned from weight training the day before. He kind of wished Haru were still around to share it with him—he knew nothing of his training, only knowing that he did, if visual proof meant anything. Not that he’d been _checking him out_ , but it was hard not to notice how he filled out his T-shirts better, and the tightness of the sleeves—

“Excuse me?”

Rin hadn’t noticed the shadow over his notebook until he lifted his head, momentarily startled by the girl standing in front of him. Her hair was long, so he hadn’t been able to see her face before, but the slight creasing at the corners of her eyes and sharp cheekbones indicated she was older than he’d originally thought.

He smiled. “Hey.”

She motioned to the bench and he nodded, squinting against the sunlight that now assaulted his upturned face. Rin tried to place her, despite her unfamiliarity, and hoped she’d break the silence soon so he didn’t have to come up with something to say to his impromptu bench mate. She wiped her palms on her jeans, then pushed her hair off her forehead. It fell back into the same exact position. “Feel free to call me crazy or make me go away,” she started, “but...”

His heart thumped at the pause. His brain quickly worked through the excuses. _I have class_ , he thought. _I’m seeing someone_ , he internally lied, convincing himself there was someone at home—

 _That doesn’t help!_ he thought, squeezing his hands into fists.

“I’ve seen you here before,” she went on. “I’m not being creepy or anything. I work at the center.” She jerked a thumb behind her, at the indistinguishable green door with its tiny lettering he’d read so many times from the park bench.

His eyes widened, and he coughed, the words lodged in his throat.

“I didn’t even introduce myself,” she said with a laugh. “I’m Layla.”

He nodded. “Rin.” His own name came out like chalk, the only word he’d spoken since his initial _Hey_ , any other attempts at a response lost in her concerned eyes and annoyingly patient smile.

“You wanna come in?”

He glanced at the door again. There wasn’t anyone hanging out on the steps today; the door looked like any other unmemorable door, and the concrete steps leading up to whatever mysteries lay inside.

Rin swallowed hard. He shook his head.

They parted with a smile and a business card, her name lying across his notebook now with a handwritten cell number on the back. He ran his finger across the edge, the tiny perforation teeth a sign she’d printed them off her home computer. _Layla_ , it just said, no last name, like she was already friends with whoever she encountered. The cards were evidence enough that she was good at talking to others, those nervous fools who hovered outside and didn’t go in.

He slipped the card into his wallet. The plastic window inside, designed to hold identification, displayed a photo from his graduation party. His family had insisted on the party, inviting over a few friends for too much food and celebratory sweets. Haru had actually faced the camera when Rin had thrown an arm around his shoulders, but the small smile rivaled Rin’s wide-mouthed grin. He folded the wallet and buried it back into his school bag.

By the time he looked up again, Layla had already disappeared back inside. There were others milling about the park and he couldn’t remember if they’d been there during the conversation, wondering whether they’d overheard or at least recognized him. He threw his bag over his shoulder and left for home, avoiding eye contact until he was two block away, when there was little chance anyone would be left who would’ve maybe heard the brief conversation.

As if they’d care.

Home was little relief as he flopped onto the sofa, his school bag pulling at his shoulder and dangling off the edge. Haru’s scent had faded from the apartment, but even the ever-present chlorinated smell of his shower reminded him that Haru had been there, and sometimes he caught a whiff of unfamiliar shampoo on his pillow.

Rin closed his eyes. The bag weighed him down but he couldn’t move yet to get rid of it, mentally calculating all that it held—notebook. Textbook. Empty water bottle. Wallet. He blindly groped into the bag to retrieve the wallet, opening his eyes only when he lifted the wallet’s flap. He pointedly ignored the graduation photo as he pulled out Layla’s card, studying her name again and the handwritten number on the back. He propped his feet on the arm of the couch, stretching out his legs. His quads were still sore. His lower back popped as he stretched. He gritted his teeth and pulled out his phone, punching the foreign number into the keypad, then stared at the display. He inhaled deeply, catching a trace of essential oils shampoo embedded in the couch. He leaned his cheek against the cushion and pressed “send.”

 

 

Following swim practice, Haru wasn’t surprised to find Makoto in his apartment. He’d already made himself comfortable at the low table, flipping through the most recent issue of _Swimming World_. The room smelled slightly of peppermint, and the teapot and cups were arranged in the center of the table.

“I’m not used to seeing your name in here,” Makoto said. As Haru sat, he spied the list of results across the magazine spread. “You didn’t tell me you’re faster than Rin now.”

“By three-tenths of a second.” Haru poured himself a cup of tea.

Makoto raised an eyebrow.

“But I don’t care about that.” The tea was strong—Makoto had let it steep too long, or used too many leaves—but it was peppermint, and hard to mess up.

The unasked question lingered between them, the obvious follow-up to _“I want to tell you something,”_ but Makoto merely chuckled and took up his own teacup. Haru had lived most of his life alone, but he’d never felt it—not with his friends always around, and not even now in Tokyo, with his spare key on Makoto’s keyring. Haru hadn’t realized until moving in that he’d bought two of everything, just in case, including a spare futon rolled up in the closet.

“I don’t like girls,” Haru said suddenly.

If Makoto’s face showed any surprise, it was gone by the time Haru looked at him. But Makoto’s easy smile was telling enough that Haru didn’t have to expand upon the admission, like he’s been expecting—or waiting—for Haru to reveal he was anything but the societal norm. “That’s okay, Haru.”

 _It’s Okay!_ said the red script, as if he needed the validation. _But some people do_ , he thought, like the people who visit university health centers to sneak these pamphlets into their bags, and then hide them from visiting friends. “I don’t like boys, either,” he added.

Now, there was the slight tilt of the head in response. His eyebrows screwed together as the gears turned, piecing together new information to gauge what it all meant.

“I like Rin,” he concluded.

Makoto’s smile was forthcoming, but Haru stared out the window instead. There was little to see from the second story, only the trees and the sky beyond, and the occasional bird zipping past his window. Right now, there were no birds.

“You’re suited for each other,” Makoto replied. He sipped from his teacup.

“We slept together”—Makoto sputtered, coughing as he pounded his chest—“in the same bed.”

Haru couldn’t help but smirk, even after Makoto glared at him, then sipped his own tea to hide it. It had been different than before; the bed was larger than the last time they’d slept beside each other, but it had been warmer. It was Rin, and the knowledge of him, and his scent in every surface. Haru could still smell it.

“Did anything”—Makoto paused—“happen?”

“I fell asleep.” That had been victory enough, but Makoto’s sigh indicated that hadn’t been the question. He thought of the girl from mixer, and remembered the way his hair twirled around her finger. _She was flirting with you_ , Makoto had said, his tone both patient and exasperated.

“No,” Haru finally said. Rin was always touching him: arm around the shoulder. Pat on the back. Even over the video chat, his hand would linger in the corner in the screen, like he could reach through it to him. “I just wanted to sleep.”

The open magazine still lay between them, and Makoto stared down at the list of names. Haru and Rin were often near each other, toward the top, their times alarmingly similar. Haru’s eyes automatically fell to the number eight spot on the list, the characters of _Matsuoka_ small but legible from a distance.

Makoto spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. “Do you think... he feels the same way?”

Haru studied the dregs of tea leaves in his cup. _It’s Okay!_ , the boys with hands intertwined. His heart rate accelerated like he was swimming, his pulse quickening though his body wasn’t moving at all. He looked away, holding onto the teacup with both hands to keep his hands from shaking. “I don’t know.”

If Rin had half a mind, he would’ve hung up the phone before she’d picked up. Or not dialed at all, if he was just going to sit there and sputter, hugging his knees and hiding his face in the folds of his jeans. “It’s Rin,” he’d said, “from the park,” like she would’ve already forgotten him in the half-hour since they’d met. But after her cheery “Hi!” he could only get out a whine, admitting defeat, trying to pull anything out of his head to clear the patience silence on the other end. Layla wasn’t helping; she prompted nothing, contributing little but the acknowledgement of his phone call, waiting for him to reveal why he’d so quickly punched in her number. _She’s working_ , Rin thought, convincing himself this was a bad idea, trying to come up with any excuse to hang up and forget about it.

But he was already on the phone, and she was waiting.

“I— I’m nervous,” Rin blurted. He covered the mouthpiece and cleared his throat. “I’m going to be famous. My home country isn’t... they won’t like it, okay?”

 _Home country_ , like he could hide the fact he was Japanese. _Who the hell says ‘home country?’_ he thought, grinding a fist into the couch cushion.

“Rin, you don’t have to tell anyone,” Layla replied. “It’s your personal business.”

Sweat beaded across his brow, and he shivered. He stared at a framed photograph on the wall, of him with the Iwatobi Swim Club, smiling with tears in his eyes, arm slung around his shoulders...

“There’s a guy,” he said, almost _shouted_ , then groaned in defeat. He fell back onto the couch, propping one arm behind his head. “I’ve gotta tell him, right? I _want_ to tell him. But I don’t know what I want! I just”—he squeezed his eyes shut—“I just want to _be_ with him, and do all that romantic crap, without all the other stuff! Who wants _that_? Why would he...” He trailed off.

Rin swiped the corner of his eye with a fist, leaving an angry tear streak across his temple. He flopped onto his side, facing the rear cushion, and took deep breaths to calm the outburst and convince himself it hadn’t happened at all.

“That’s okay, Rin.” She kept on saying his name like that, in that tone people used to pacify small children, and he hated how well it worked. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Do you think he’d understand your situation?”

Liking him? Being famous? Only doing romantic crap?

Rin found himself nodding, though she couldn’t see it, his body making the decision before his brain could process it. “Yeah.”

She’d never outright said that Rin should talk to him, dancing around the issue until he came to his own conclusion. _Like a therapist_ , he thought, hanging up the phone. He didn’t move, but continued staring at the couch cushion. _He’d better understand_ , Rin thought with a laugh. But _he_ didn’t care about those things. He didn’t care what other people thought, or what they did. Rin rose from the couch. He _wouldn’t_ care, he decided, as he sat down at his computer. He stared at the video chat icon, then opened the browser instead. He didn’t have a week to spend away from training; he hardly had a full day to call his own. But he checked his bank account, and he checked the flights going home, and he justified the decision because he hadn’t taken a day off since he’d arrived in Australia all those months ago.

 

* * *

 

 

If there was anything Haru had been expecting, it wasn’t this.

The front door was open, his hand still on the knob, a cold breeze prickling his bare chest. He hadn’t considered throwing on a shirt after his bath, even when the unexpected visitor had rung the bell rather than use the keys like he was accustomed to. _Probably the landlord_ , he’d thought, or one of his neighbors for no good reason he could think of, but either of those made more sense than Rin across his threshold. Rin, who was supposed to be in Australia, who mysteriously hadn’t spoken to him in the past twenty-four hours.

He entered without invitation, sidestepping around Haru and dropping his overnight bag. Haru closed the door only because he was cold, not because of any need for privacy, not because they were having a conversation or had said anything at all, because the _Rin!_ he thought he’d said had only been in his head, and even Rin— _Rin_ , of all people—hadn’t said anything either, just smiled sheepishly.

On the table was a flyer for an art show at Japan’s LGBT center, not that Rin would’ve been able to see it from the doorway, though the apartment wasn’t so big that he wouldn’t be able to see the subtle rainbow colors that served as the flyer’s background. But Rin didn’t look at the apartment at all—he looked straight at Haru, cheeks flushed, hands twisted together. He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, _anything_ , but instead took the couple steps that separated them until they stood face-to-face, chest-to-chest.

Rin had hugged him before. But his arms engulfed Haru, around his shoulders and his back and his body all at once, cupping the back of his head with his face pressed to Haru’s shoulder. Rin’s chest pulsed against his own, erratically at first before it gradually slowed, and then Haru’s arms fit so comfortably around Rin’s hips and he wondered why he’d never hugged him back before.

 _Why are you here?_ he asked, again in his head, not trusting his voice to translate the words in the way he wanted. Haru closed his eyes instead and let his head drop to Rin’s shoulder. He smelled like the recycled air of an airplane. He smelled a little like chlorine, which was weird, because Haru barely smelled that anymore.

“This is crazy.” Rin’s words were muffled against his shoulder, their vibration echoing through the skin. Rin stood up straight, mouth set in a stubborn line, determination flashing in his eyes. “Haru, I have to tell you something.”

 _I know_ , he wanted to say, holding in a laugh because this was so like _Rin_ , to get on a plane rather than make a phone call. To make everything overdramatic. _Romantic_. To have to look him in the eye as he confessed feelings Haru already knew. His determination wavered when Haru smiled, and his body went limp when Haru hugged him again.

He didn’t think about kissing Rin’s cheek, only knew that it was happening, his skin so cool and smooth against Haru’s lips. He did it again, in a different spot, as if that would make it feel any different, but it felt just as nice as the first, but he’d wait to do it again. Haru just smiled, pressing his cheek against Rin’s. “Not now. This is nice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I initially thought I'd stolen that last line from [this lovely artwork](http://asexualrinmatsuoka.tumblr.com/post/141281290881), but then realized I didn't, but I'm going to leave that here anyway because it's lovely.
> 
> (chapter is [here](http://ellereanwrites.tumblr.com/post/143902760108) on tumblr.)


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